


waking up

by StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese



Series: inspired by TUA season 2 [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (yessss), Amnesia, Canon Queer Character, Vanya Hargreeves-centric, Vanya waking up at the farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese/pseuds/StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese
Summary: You wake up in a strange house, surrounded by strangers, and you remember nothing.orVanya Hargreeves' first morning after the car accident.
Series: inspired by TUA season 2 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860775
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	waking up

You wake up with a splitting headache and an aching sense of loss. You have the idea that you were looking for something, or someone, and you were angry and afraid. 

Everything else, though, is completely gone.

This is bad. This is really bad.

You try to get up, to fight your way out of the tangle of blankets that you’ve found yourself in, but end up rolling over and nearly falling out of the bed.

Shit. 

There is a knock from the door, and you say “Come in!” without thinking. 

A woman enters, and she is definitely the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen, but she’s also the _only_ woman you’ve ever seen, so you just smile politely instead of telling her that.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re up,” she says, looking apologetic and motherly all at once. “I’m Sissy, Sissy Cooper. I ran you over with my car. I’m so sorry about that, are you all right?”

“Where am I?” you say. Your mouth tastes like cotton. Your ears are ringing faintly. 

“Oh, you’re on our farm, honey. Listen, do you have any friends? Family, that we could contact?”

You shake your head, and then decide to clarify that response. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Sissy is beginning to look worried. “You don’t remember?”

“Anything,” you say. “I don’t remember anything.”

Sissy definitely looks worried. “Oh, dear. Well, do you know your name, honey?”

“Seven,” you say immediately, and then shake your head. “Sorry, that’s not… that’s not a name. I don’t know why… I’m Vanya. Vanya Hargreeves.”

Sissy smiles, and holds out a hand placatingly. “Don’t worry, Vanya. I’m sure somebody’s looking for you. I’ll just get you some new clothes, and you can come in for breakfast when you’re feeling up to it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you manage, because you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to call kind women that, and she smiles wider. Your heart flutters, but she’s turning away all too quickly and hurrying out the door. You stare after her.

By the time Sissy comes back in with the clothes, you’ve managed to beat back the blankets, and… yeah, you need to change. Right now, you’re wearing a suit that looks like it’s seen better days. In fact, it looks like it used to be pure white. Well, it certainly isn’t pure white now. You touch a splotch of red on the collar and shiver. You hope that that’s your blood.

You change as quickly as you can, and ball up the suit to throw out later.

“Vanya,” Sissy says, once you are presentable enough to join the family for breakfast, “this is my husband, Carl, and my son, Harlen.”

You nod to both of them. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m… I’m really sorry to drop in on you like this.”

Neither of them say anything, but Harlan rocks back and forth and sneaks a look up at you, like he isn’t sure what to say.

“ _Vanya_. What a pretty name,” Sissy said, to fill the increasingly awkward silence. “Is it Russian?”

You shrug. 

“Huh.” Sissy says, and hesitates. Carl looks at you with an unreadable expression.

It strikes you that your name might make them nervous. You aren’t sure why, but you want nothing more than to reassure them, so you say “I don’t remember.” It’s a paltry offering, but it’s all you have.

Still, it works. Sissy smiles at you, and Harlan returns to his breakfast, satisfied. Carl still looks suspicious, but you smile at him and he grunts, returning to his paper.

You sit down and take a bite of pancakes, eyeing Harlan across the table as he eyes you right back. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, but you saw him playing with a little figurine of a bird as you sat down. You think you might be good with kids. Maybe Harlan is just shy.

“What do you think about communism, Vanya?” Carl asks you as Sissy clears up the table and ushers Harlan to the living room to play.

You blink at him. “I… I don’t follow politics,” you say, a little lamely.

“Oh, Carl, dear, ease up on her! She has amnesia!” Sissy calls from the kitchen, but Carl just frowns.

“You remembered your name,” he says. “You remember what a fork and knife and pancakes are. Why not communism?”

You don’t know what to say. Something tells you that communism hadn’t exactly been a big part of your life, even before the car accident. But Carl seems to think that it was. Why?

“Why do you ask?” you say.

“Oh, you know,” he replies. “Name like _Vanya_ , you have to be Russian. It is a strange name for an American woman to have, you have to admit.”

You don’t understand Carl’s reasoning. To you, all names are a little strange, and you’re sure that that feeling has nothing to do with the amnesia. To you, names should sound like numbers.

But that makes no sense. Who names their child after a number?

“My name is just my name,” you say. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

Carl does not look happy, but he settles back in his chair. You stare at your lap, which feels like the most familiar thing you’ve done all day.

“Say, Vanya, Carl,” Sissy says, reappearing beside the counter, and you jump and look up at her. 

“Yes, ma’am?” you say, and she places a hand on her son's shoulder, who is tucked partially behind her skirts.

“Does one of you mind watching Harlan for me while I finish cleaning up?” she asks, and behind you, Carl mutters something about getting to work on time and hurries out the door. Sissy’s smile tightens slightly.

“Sure,” you say, standing and offering a hand to Harlan. “Let’s go to the living room.”

He takes your hand, and leads you into the living room. You have the sense that most kids are not this quiet, but upon hearing Sissy’s relieved sigh as she started scrubbing dishes, you decide to ask about Harlan later. 

For now, you watch him fiddle with his toy, and occasionally point to other things in the living room (which you ooh and aah over accordingly), and try not to think about the fading ringing in your ears, or the ache in your skull, or worst of all, your own memories.

It doesn’t matter who you were before. Whether or not you were a Russian or a Communist then, you aren’t one now. 

And as you hear Sissy’s humming and watch Harlan play, you wonder whether you could, maybe, leave your blank past behind for good.

You hope you can.

You stretch out, and feel the warm sun on your face, and listen to the noises of Harlan and Sissy.

You think you can hear a single violin.


End file.
